


Take Another Little Pizza My Heart

by distortedreality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Actual Sterek trash, Crack Fic, Death by Puns, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distortedreality/pseuds/distortedreality
Summary: Stiles decides the best way to woo his Dream Guy, aka Manager ‘resting bitch face’ Derek, is through insubordination and food puns. It goes as well as could be expected.





	Take Another Little Pizza My Heart

Stiles is restocking the canned beans when he sees him for the first time.

The guy of Stiles’ dreams is standing at the returns desk talking to Finstock, a plastic bag in his hands.

Stiles is in love.

Stiles shoved the box of beans at Erica, forcing her to grab onto them to stop them tumbling to the floor.

“What the fuck,” she hissed.

Stiles ignored her, creeping to the end of the aisle and peeking around the side, his eyes fixed on the guy’s ass in the tight blue jeans he was wearing. He listened for a moment, trying to pick out whether he was complaining about a product or not. Not that Stiles cared; the guy could rant about expired coupons all day and Stiles would still want to listen.

Stiles swore to himself and started to walk over in what he hoped looked like a swagger. Judging by the confused look Isaac shot him from one of the registers, it didn’t quite translate.

Stiles leaned casually against the counter next to Hot Guy and cleared his throat. Hot Guy and Finstock turned to look at him at the same time, identical questioning looks across both their faces.

“Did you need some help?” Stiles asked, smiling widely.

“Uh, no thanks,” Hot Guy replied.

“Why are you being so attentive all of a sudden?” Finstock asked. He reached behind the counter and pulled out a stack of receipts, handing them to Stiles. “Take these to the office and then you can go back to pretending to take your job seriously.”

Stiles let out a dramatized gasp. “I always take my job seriously, Sir. As a matter of fact, I’m making it my mission to ensure this customer right here is given all my attention.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Finstock muttered.

“I’m not a customer,” Hot Guy said with raised eyebrows. “I’m your new manager.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Stiles said before he could help himself.

“Stilinski,” Finstock cried out. “For the love of God, do something useful and take these to the office.” He shoved the stack of receipts at Stiles again.

Stiles grimaced as he took them, and walked away dragging his feet.

He detoured to the deli section, throwing himself onto the long glass case and groaned loudly.

“Dude, get off. I just cleaned that,” Scott hissed, grabbing a cloth and leaning over to wipe the imprint of Stiles’ face off the glass.

“My life is over,” Stiles declared.

“Did Finstock tell you to clean the dumpster again?”

“Worse.”

“Literally nothing you could say is worse than that,” Scott said, whipping the cloth at Stiles.

“My dream man is at the returns desk.”

“Then why are you still standing here?”

“I’m hoping that he’s into roleplay or something and he’s just pretending to be our new manager, rather than _actually_ being our new manager.”

“We have a new manager? Cool, is he nice?” Scott asked eagerly.

“Whether he’s nice or not is completely irrelevant, Scott. Get with the times,” Stiles hissed. “The real issue here is that Finstock is going to get in my dream man’s head and turn him against me. It’s _injustice_ , is what it is.”

“Maybe you should start playing nice with Finstock then?” Scott suggested.

“He started it,” Stiles whined.

“That is so far from the truth.”

“Is not.”

“Your first week here you convinced some customers to pile all the fruit up in a big pyramid to try and reach the ceiling.”

“I was trying to create a more engaging environment for the kids.”

“You destroyed hundreds of dollars of product.”

“We all make mistakes.”

“What about that time you made a fort out in the storage area from the old boxes and tried to hide in it for your entire shift.”

“I was feeling sick that day.”

“And the time you stole a massive loaf of bread and carved it out to fit over your head?”

“It was Halloween.”

“You made a kid wet himself when you put it on at the register. You literally made a kid piss themselves out of fright.”

“Look, we can’t know it wasn’t excitement, ok.”

“Stiles, instead of restocking with Erica you’re in my section laying on the counter. I think your face has left a permanent imprint on the glass.”

“Alright, fine. Maybe I’m not a model employee,” Stiles conceded, standing up and rubbing at a mark on the glass with the hem of his shirt. “But you can’t deny I make shifts fun.”

“Ah, yes, just what every manager wants to hear,” Scott joked. He glanced over Stiles’ shoulder. “Is your apparent ‘dream guy’ the one with the dark hair, jeans, and model eyebrows?”

“Yes,” Stiles sighed, turning around and clasping his hands to his chest. “Isn’t he beautiful?”

“He’s cute if you like resting bitch face, which I know you do.”

“He’s perfection,” Stiles sighed again.

“Haven’t you only spoken a handful of words to him?”

“Best words of my life,” Stiles declared.

“Stilinski,” Finstock yelled from the front area.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed, dropping the handful of receipts down on the counter in front of Scott and darting down the pasta aisle.

“I can see you,” Finstock yelled again.

Stiles darted into the next aisle, dropping down behind the ladder Erica was standing on, her arms full of canned tomatoes.

“God, you’re so weird,” she muttered, lightly kicking a foot out at Stiles.

As he crouched Stiles made eye contact with Hot Guy as he walked past the aisle towards the main doors. Hot Guy frowned slightly at him, but Stiles was mesmerized nonetheless. His eyes tracked Hot Guy as he walked out of sight. Stiles leaned to the side to follow him with his eyes, toppling over into the middle of the aisle when he leaned too far.

“I’m in love,” Stiles declared loudly.

“For the love of God, please help me with these cans,” Erica cried.

*

Hot Guy started the next week. Or ‘Derek’ as he told Stiles to call him.

The other name was much more fitting, in Stiles’ opinion.

While not exactly a model employee, in Stiles’ own words, he didn’t get in trouble very often. Most of the time Finstock just ignored him or sent him to the opposite side of the store so he “didn’t have to deal with him”. Derek, on the other hand, was all up in Stiles’ business. And not in a good way.

“Stiles, it’s taken you half an hour to put away a box of napkins,” Derek said, standing at the end of the BBQ aisle with his arms folded.

“Wow, time flies when you’re having fun,” Stiles joked, rushing to shove an armful of napkin packets onto the lower shelf.

“How is it possible for you to waste this much time?” Derek asked, frowning. “And please don’t give me some stupid excuse.”

The reason it was taking Stiles so long was because Derek had been manning the register next to Isaac all morning because Boyd had called in sick. The register was in the perfect position for Stiles to watch Derek from the middle of the aisle, and he had been doing so for most of the morning.

Well, if Derek wanted the truth then he’d get the truth.

“It’s because you’re so bar-be-cute,” Stiles said, shooting off some finger guns.

Derek stared at him, deadpan.

“Yeah, I’ll go back to stocking,” Stiles muttered, turning back to the shelf.

*

Derek was riding Stiles hard, which was a sentence Stiles never thought could have negative connotations.

He was wrong.

“You have ten minutes to finish the frozen goods, then you’re on cardboard duty. Erica, watch him and make sure he does what he’s supposed to.”

“Derek, I’m appalled at your lack of trust,” Stiles gasped.

Erica snorted and buried her head in the freezer.

“Don’t push your luck,” Derek replied. “If you keep screwing around then I’ll supervise you myself. You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Stiles stopped and took in the ‘threat’.

“Derek,” he said, turning towards his manager.

“Think carefully about whatever you’re planning on saying,” Derek countered.

“Derek,” Stiles continued, pulling a box of frozen pizza and holding it out towards Derek. “Don’t act like you don’t know you’ve got a pizza my heart.”

“Last chance,” Derek replied, turning on his heel and walking towards the office.

“How was that?” Stiles asked Erica, who was quietly laughing into the frozen goods.

“I can see why you’re single,” she replied.

“Wait and see,” Stiles said.

*

“Hey, Erica,” Stiles said as they stocked the grains aisle. “Do you like nuts?”

“Is that a come on?”

“No, it’s a trial run.”

“Oh God, for what?”

“For the love of my life,” Stiles cried, clasping the bag of assorted nuts to his chest.

“God help them,” Erica muttered.

“How’d I do?”

“Maybe don’t open with that.”

“Noted.”

*

Stiles’ love could not be contained. He was determined to woo Derek no matter how hard Derek’s eyes rolled whenever Stiles tried to flirt with him.

“Derek.”

“Go back to the grains aisle, Stiles.”

“But Derek, I’m nuts about you.”

Stiles wiggled a bag of nuts in Derek’s face.

“I’m writing you up,” Derek replied.

*

Stiles pulled the bunch of contraband, aka mint leaves, out of his pocket and shut the door to the office behind him. Derek would probably blow a gasket when he figured out Stiles wasn’t sorting through the returned items where he’d left him, so he’d have to be fast.

Stiles rounded the desk and tossed the leaves onto it, pushing aside loose bits of paper and stray pens. He arranged the leaves in a heart shape, with ‘S + D’ in torn up leaves inside it.

Stiles sat in the chair and spun around a few times, chewing on a spare mint leaf as he did so. It wouldn’t take Derek long to find him.

It took Derek exactly seven minutes to locate Stiles.

He slammed the door to the office open, a deep frown on his face.

“What are you doing,” Derek ground out. “Are those … did you steal those from the fresh produce section?”

“Derek, you don’t understand,” Stiles started.

Derek raised his eyebrows.

“We’re mint to be.”

“I could fire you for this.”

“But you won’t.”

“I’m deducting the cost of the mint from your paycheck.”

“Still worth it.”

*

After the mint incident (or mintcident), Derek tasked himself with escorting Stiles around for most of his shifts, aiming to “set him straight” or something. It was a misguided attempt, since extra time with Derek only pushed Stiles deeper into homosexuality, where being set straight was a distant memory.

The best part of the whole debacle was that Stiles didn’t have to do many of the jobs he hated anymore, since he needed to stay within Derek’s sight at all times, and Derek usually manned the returns desk. So no more dumpster scrubbing or toilet cleaning for Stiles.

Derek let him come behind the desk and sort through the returns most of the time, keen to let him sit on the floor, hidden from the view of customers.

“How the hell have you not gotten fired yet?” Derek hissed one afternoon, after Stiles had attempted to eat a bag of marshmallows that were still in prime condition.

“Hey, you haven’t fired me yet,” Stiles pointed out.

“I can’t,” Derek said, grinding his jaw. “Only Finstock can.”

“Finstock will never fire me,” Stiles declared, gleefully. “Too much paperwork.”

He offered a marshmallow up to Derek, who rolled his eyes but popped it in his mouth.

“I swear I’m funnier once you give me a chance,” Stiles said.

“I doubt that,” Derek replied, turning back to face the store.

“Derek.”

“ _What_?”

“We’d make a pretty good pear.” Stiles held up a bruised and dented pear from the discard pile.

Derek thumped his head down on the counter.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Perkins asked as she held out a receipt and a package of mince.

*

“Derek, can you please let me go do something in the deli section today? Scott’s having a crisis,” Stiles called out as he walked into the store.

“God, no,” Derek said as he rounded the counter, herding Stiles towards the employee lockers.

“Derek, you’re a beautiful man,” Stiles said, pulling Derek to a stop with a hand on his arm. “But you’re bacon my heart.”

“I’m leaving. I’m going to the returns desk and you’re going to go restock … something. Anything.”

“I’ll wear you down sometime,” Stiles called to Derek’s retreating back.

*

“Since you apparently can’t be allowed near customers for the next two shifts at least, you’re on cardboard duty,” Derek informed Stiles on his next shift.

“Hey, the kid thought my juggling was awesome.”

“Well her mother didn’t, especially after she was hit in the side of the head with one of the oranges. Just … stay here, and for the love of God, don’t cause any trouble.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Stiles responded, giving Derek a mock salute.

“I’m going to go prematurely gray,” Derek muttered, but left Stiles alone.

Half an hour later, Derek returned to find Stiles attempting to play soccer with bits of cardboard arranged into a shape that vaguely resembled a goal, and an old melon as a makeshift ball.

“I have no idea what to do with you,” Derek cried.

“We could have a shootout?” Stiles suggested.

Derek threw his hands in the air, but sighed and walked towards Stiles, who kicked the melon towards him.

“How long are you going to keep doing this?” Derek asked.

“That’s one point for you,” Stiles said, jogging to grab the melon. “And what am I doing, other than being my usual charming self.”

“I hope for your sake this is all an act, though I expect it’s some big joke that you and your friends are playing. Maybe not Scott, he’s a little sweet for that. Is it Erica you’re plotting with?”

“Nope, just little old me,” Stiles said, lining up for his shot at goal.

“I thought you’d get bored enough with me following you around that you might actually do your job for once.”

“Oh, Derek,” Stiles said, turning towards his manager. “I could never be card- _bored_ when you’re around.”

Derek dropkicked the melon into the closest dumpster and walked back into the store.

*

“I’m doing it today, Scott,” Stiles declared, throwing open the curtains in Scott’s room.

“What now?” Scott groaned, burying his head under the pillow.

“I’m laying it all on the table.”

“What are you even talking about? God, it’s 5:30 on a Monday.”

“There’s no time like the present. And I also know that Derek starts his shift at six on Mondays.”

“And I needed to be woken up why?”

“Moral support. I need my best boy there.”

“Oh my God,” Scott groaned again.

After Scott had dragged himself out of bed, Stiles drove them over to the store, tapping his hands on the steering wheel incessantly throughout the drive.

“Holy shit, you’re actually nervous,” Scott said as he downed his takeaway coffee.

“No shit, he’s the guy of my dreams, as I keep telling you.”

“I thought you got over that? You’re constantly making terrible jokes.”

“That’s flirting.”

“It looks like you’re making a mockery of his authority.”

“Well, he’ll know it’s flirting.”

“Whatever you say,” Scott conceded, reclining his seat back.

Stiles parked the Jeep next to Derek’s Toyota, taking a deep breath before hopping out.

“Wish me luck,” he called to Scott, who shot him a thumbs up.

The store looked peaceful in the early hour, and Derek wasn’t at the returns desk. Stiles walked over to the desk and tapped the little bell that was there, running his fingers in patterns on the counter as he waited for Derek to appear.

“You’re not on today,” Derek said from a spot to Stiles’ left.

“I know,” Stiles said. “I have a return.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of McDonald’s ketchup and tossed it onto the counter next to Derek.

“We should ketchup outside of work,” he said, beaming at Derek.

Derek stared at the ketchup for a moment before turning to glare at Stiles.

“Look, I know this is a huge joke to you, but if you could not bring that into this that’d be great.”

“Uh, so is that a no on the ketchup?”

“Stiles, stop,” Derek said. “I don’t know why you’re doing this. You could just say you’re not into me, you don’t need to make shitty jokes all the time.”

“What?” Stiles said, staring at Derek with wide eyes.

“Oh, so you’re going to act like you have no idea what I’m talking about then?” Derek cried.

“Um,” Stiles responded.

“I’ve been giving you signals for weeks.”

“What signals?” Stiles cried. He was squeezing the ketchup packet so hard he half expected it to go shooting across the counter.

“Do you think I cut anyone else anywhere near this much slack? Because I don’t.”

“Finstock cuts me slack too,” Stiles replied, eyes wide.

“But not – ugh. You’re not interested so I don’t know why we’re still having this conversation. You’ve made your point, so please leave,” Derek said, gesturing towards the door.

“Oh, hell no,” Stiles declared. “I just said we should do something outside of work. How is that—“

“You’re not serious, though.”

“Actually, I am.”

“You’ve spoken to me almost entirely through food puns since I started here. You cannot tell me you’ve been serious in any form.”

“Ok, I’ve been joking around, but not like _joking_ ,” Stiles cried. “That makes, like, zero sense but I don’t know how else to explain it. I’ve been flirting with you since you started here.”

“And your food puns were, what, some kind of weird Stiles-esque mating ritual?” Derek asked incredulously.

“ _Yes_ ,” Stiles yelled.

“Why … oh, God … why didn’t you just _ask me out_?”

“You’re a little intimidating,” Stiles said. “You’re, like, my dream guy or something and I didn’t want to screw it up. So by trying not to screw it up I screwed it up.”

“Ask me out,” Derek said.

“Wait, can you repeat that because I’m pretty sure I just had an auditory hallucination.”

“Ask me out. Properly, this time.”

“Uh, did you want to go out sometime then?” Stiles asked, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the ground. He still half expected Derek to laugh in his face.

“Yes.”

“Wait, seriously?” Stiles cried.

“Oh my God, _yes_ , I’d love to go out with you,” Derek said. He grabbed onto Stiles’ chin and turned it up to face him.

“Fuck yes,” Stiles shouted, throwing his arms in the air.

“Actually, maybe I should be the one to take you out since you’re probably getting fired this week.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” Stiles replied. “We’ll have a Hale of a time.”

“Shut up,” Derek smiled, pulling Stiles in to press their lips together.

A customer whistled as they walked through the door, and Stiles could faintly hear Scott cheering from out in the parking lot.

“So, your dream guy, huh?” Derek said after pulling back.

“I’ve basically already written our wedding vows,” Stiles replied.

“I’ll leave you at the altar if you incorporate any puns.”

“Guess you’d better wear your running shoes,” Stiles retorted, and leaned in to kiss Derek again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come celebrate Sterek on my [tumblr](https://selectedparagraphs.tumblr.com/)


End file.
